


Sex is Simple

by Corycides



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Sexual exploration, control play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of Oliver Queen's secrets come from before the island, back when he chased control right into the leather and chains of Club Psyche. Now he has to go back, and he has to take Felicity - soft, compliant Felicity - with him.</p><p>Oliver has a lot of secrets. One is who, and what, he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oliver braced himself. He was alone. After everything they had been through together, Diggle had abandoned him. He should have expected it. No matter how loyal the man, some things were just asking too much.

'I just don't see why _I_ have to be the submissive,' Felicity said, folding her arms and tapping her foot. She'd come straight from the office and was still wearing her worker bee drone camouflage: white shirt, pencil skirt and sensible black heels. It looked incongruous against the weapons and tech of the lair. 'Is it because I'm a woman?'

'No,' he said. The part of his brain that was still the billionaire playboy – that remembered how easy not caring had been – flashed an image if Felicity in nothing but some strategically placed straps through his mind. He shoved it away and was glad he wasn't suited up yet – leather trousers hid no sins. 'It just makes sense.'

She wrinkled her nose at him. After too many poor cover stories – he used to be a _good_ liar, but somehow he'd lost the knack – he recognised the 'I smell bullshit' look.

'Because I'm a woman?'

He rolled his eyes at her and strode over to the suit hanging off the mannequin. Digg had been upgrading it – before he caught the words 'BDSM club' and 'undercover' and made a run for it – and his tools were still lying next to it. Tailor's needle and thread and a soldering iron. He stripped off his sweater and shirt, giving Felicity a back barely broad enough for all the scars.

The scars usually flustered her enough that he could change the subject.

'I was reading up on Pysche,' she said, joining him at the table and waving her smartphone at him. 'It's run by a woman, Penelope Dolmann. She-'

His stomach knotted and he turned, getting too close to Felicity. She actually 'eeped' and made herself smaller, tucking her shoulders in.

'Do I look like a submissive,' he asked, voice thick with...a lot of things.

Felicity glanced down at him, blinked rapidly and made herself look back up. And no, he wasn't so obtuse he couldn't see that she was attracted to him. It was useful. It was... _nice._ He loved Laurel – everyday since he'd fucked everything up, he'd loved Laurel – but it was never simple, never just a pretty girl looking at him like he was made of sex.

'I read up on that too,' she said, voice scratchy. 'It's about attitude and-'

He growled at her and she jumped back, banging into the table and sending the tools clattering to the floor. She babbled her way through a sorry, dropping her phone on the table and crouching down to pick it all up. Oliver looked down at her tousled blonde hair and clenched his jaw, looking up at the ceiling for a second as he slapped his body back under control.

Letting her look was one thing, he shouldn't be looking back. He swallowed, mouth dry, and grabbed the suit. The weight of it reminded him what he was, what he couldn't go back to being.

'Attitude you don't have, Felicity,' he said flatly. 'If you can't hack the part, then we'll work out another way to do.'

She straightened up and gave him an indignant look through her glasses. 'I can hack anything, Mr Queen. I'll see you tonight.'

A toss of her head and she was gone, stalking out of the lair. She'd be back; she'd forgot her phone. Oliver shifted his outfit into his free arm and picked it up, staring at Penny Dolmann's photoshoot captured face. Pretty blue eyes and a pouty, upside down mouth under a bob of glossy black hair. Only the swoop of white in her bangs was new.

She wouldn't be there, he told himself, clicking the phone off. Their intel had her and Lucky in Melbourne at a film festival. He wouldn't have to see them.

That was what he didn't want to explain to Felicity. That the reason he couldn't play sub is that anyone in Psyche would know that wasn't the way Oliver Queen's kinks ran. He'd never been much for pain – not his own, definitely not anyone else's – but control...

That, he'd been chasing his whole life.

The click of Felicity's heel on the way back in was a lot more tentative than when she had left. Oliver held the phone out without looking and she muttered a reluctant 'thank you' before hurrying off again.

 

* * *

 

It had been Tommy Merlyn who'd dragged him to Psyche the first time. It had been just the sort of place Tommy liked – exclusive, expensive and sure to piss off his Dad. Except it never got its hooks into him.

'Too far for me,' he'd said, wagging a half-drunk glass of champagne at Oliver. 'Too mad for me.' 

It wasn't the sex. A little bit of kink wasn't going to send either of them screaming for the hills. Psyche was...dangerous. Get past the open bar into the back rooms, the 'play' rooms, and it was all about pushing boundaries and testing limits.

The people who went to Psyche thought 'safe, sane and consensual' was the kiddy pool of sexuality. It wasn't actively abusive – even playboy Oliver would have baulked at that, he like to think – but it was...predatory. People sometimes ended up agreeing to things they might regret.

Oliver knew he had.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't Oliver's first visit to Felicity's apartment; it was his first ride in the elevator. He watched the floors crawl by on the display impatiently. It would have been quicker to go by rooftop, but... Even at his most debauched he'd never failed to open a door for a woman – assuming he could stand up – and this felt the same. The sort of early courtesy training that took such deep root you didn't think about it: don't burp at the table, don't use your soup spoon for desert and don't crouch on a date's windowsill peering in at her before she's ready to see you.

His mouth twitched and he crossed his arms, rocking back against the cold mirrored wall. Maybe that was the niche he'd been looking for: My Little Etiquette Book for Vigilantes.

The elevator finally bounced to a stop and the door slid open. Oliver stepped out, smile politely at the sharp-eyed old lady waiting for the lift and headed to Felicity's door. He rapped just under the peep-hole and waited. There was a long pause, long enough that he frowned and leant towards the door, craning his ears for the sound of distress. 

'Just a minute,' Felicity said, voice sounding muffled.

'Everything all right?' he asked, sounding airy despite the small kick in adrenaline crawling down his spine. 'Felicity?'

'Fine!' she said. 'I just broke my ankle. Ow.'

She pulled open the door, balancing on one leg as she massaged her ankle. Her hair was loose and she was wearing a short dress in clinging ivory silk. She straightened up, the offending (he assumed) heels bringing her eyes level with his mouth.

'Is this OK, you think?' she asked, waving a hand at her dress. 'They have a _dress code_ on the website. It's very restricting.'

It made her look soft, touchable.

'You look fine,' Oliver said stiffly. He reached out without thinking, fingers touching the hollow of her throat. 'Except you need to be collared.'

He wasn't setting Felicity loose in Psyche looking unclaimed. Her nose wrinkled and she waved her hand. 'I have that sorted.'

She disappeared into her bedroom and came back out, arms twisted behind her head as she buckled the chunky collar. It looked-

'Is that a _dog collar?_ ' Oliver asked.

'My ex had a Doberman,' Felicity said. She caught the expression on her face and frowned. 'What?'

Oliver wasn't sure if he was more irritated at the fact she had an ex he didn't know about – that was probably the sort of thing a Vigilante should know about his sidekicks – or the collar. Actually, it was definitely the collar. He was not letting someone that was supposed to be _his_ turn up a club wearing something that had belonged to Fido.

'You're meant to be my submissive,' he told her dryly. 'Not my pet. I'm a billionaire, Felicity. If you're wit me, you don't wear a dog collar.'

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the way the stiff leather lay over her collarbones.

'It looks OK,' she said.

'It makes your neck look short,' he said. She gave him and dirty look and pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, starting to take the collar off. He pulled the collar he'd brought with him from his pocket. It was so soft he could ball it up in his hand. 'Here, you can wear this.'

He stepped up behind her, making her look small in the mirror, and unbuckled the collar, letting it drop into her hands. The fine, triple-looped collar was suede soft and dark green against her pale skin, an emerald glittering with dull fire against her skin.

His body clenched with a hot wash of possession at the sight of her wearing _his_ collar. It took him off-guard and he leaned into her, breathing in the faint citrus and lemongrass scent of her hair, before he could stop himself. His fingers flexed against her shoulders, skin warm and soft against his hands.

She gasped, a quick intake of breath, and stared at him in the mirror, her eyes huge and dark and interest flushing her cheeks.

The thought that he could have her crawled up out of the part of himself he didn't like any more. He shoved it down and stepped back, giving her shoulders a casual pat.

'There,' he said. 'No should bother you now.'


	2. Chapter 2

The tablet balanced precariously on Felicity's knees as she multi-tasked checking the intel on the Vigilante's target and pinning her hair up. The soft line of her arm kept catching Oliver's eye as she twisted, pinned and talked.

'Edward Hollinger has a rap sheet longer than my arm,' she said. 'Nothing that would usually merit a visit from everyone's favourite scourge of penthouse villains, though. He's just a two bit hoodlum.'

Oliver shifted lanes, car sliding slickly through the gap in traffic, and gave Felicity an amused look. She'd enjoyed saying that a little too much.

'Hoodlum?'

She ignored him and went on. 'He's from Gotham originally...'

'Marvellous.'

Felicity took her hand out of her hair long enough to wave it dismissively. 'No, he's strictly small-time, in it for the money. Once crime went polemic there, he moved somewhere more financially based.'

'Starling City.'

'Our criminals are the 1% of the Underworld,' Felicity said, giving him a quick smile. 'Which, of course, brings us to the reason we're interested in him. You, I mean.'

'Tony Roller.'

'Bingo,' Felicity said. 'Trying to pin down out favourite crooked gaming mogul hasn't been easy. He might be officially based here, but he pretty much _lives_ on that plane of his. The associates that you'd usually “lean on”-'

She hooked her fingers around the words. Oliver braked reluctantly as he hit a red – making her hiss and grab her tablet to stop it sliding to the floor – and raised his eyebrows at her. 'Why the quotes?'

'Well, when you say “lean on”, you actually mean shoot in the extremities.'

'Not always.' It made him sound...crazier than he was comfortable accepting.

'Usually.'

The lights changed. He hit the gas. 'Go on.'

'Hollinger's our ticket in,' she said. 'He's a lot more low-rent than Morgan Edge or Mr Cobblepot, we have local access and he has a conveniently time-consuming and rigorously scheduled hobby in Psyche.'

'Do we know what he likes?' Oliver asked.

He didn't need to know – not really – but he liked to watch Felicity blush. Her pale, cream-pale cheeks went pink and her mouth went all prim.

'No. His credit history doesn't … well, he's not buying things online...and the Psyche website has ridiculous levels of security-'

'The clients pay for discretion.'

She blushed again, absently fiddling with her collar, and Oliver felt that hot ache of awareness again. Awareness and a chest-deep growl at the thought she might be thinking of Hollinger's … interests. He pushed his full attention back to the road. This was work, not pleas- Not anything else.

'John did manage to bug him...I mean, plant a listening device on him. Not bug as in getting on his nerves. Anyhow, I transcribed the logs and all I could get was that he has a standing booking for the Electrum room.'

Oliver's hands clenched around the steering wheel, his knuckles creaking, and an old, sour nausea washed over him. It passed. Everything physical was ephemeral. Only the will was constant. He flexed his fingers, joints creaking, and pulled up the private drive into Pysche. It was a smear of glossy black, all glass and painted metal, and not a single camera bulb flashed as he got out of the car.

Penny took her guest's privacy, very much to heart.

He stalked around the car, glaring at the valet who'd started forwards, and opened Felicity's door for her, offering her a hand out. She took a second to fumble her tablet into her purse before putting her cool, little fingers in his. He tugged a little harder than was courteous, pulling her too close to him.

'Play the part,' he reminded her when she pushed her hands against his chest, a low whisper in her ear.

Oliver hooked his thumb under the strap of her bag, sliding it down her shoulder and tossing it back into the car. Her mouth twitched with wanting to protest, but she held her tongue. Not good enough. He'd never played with scene virgins – never brought any of his pretty girls who'd play the part and think it was just a game. Felicity needed...

He closed the car door and buried his hand in her hair, undoing all that hard work she'd put in while they drove here. It was only as the pins scattered that he realised how much it had annoyed him that she'd been focused on _that_ and not _him._ It was an Oliver thought, not the Vigilante, but he had to be Oliver tonight.

Just playing the part. He used his body to push her back against the car, the cold metal through thin silk making her gasp, and kissed her. Her mouth was soft under his, and he took advantage of her surprise to taste her. Mint toothpaste and the sweet tingle of cinnamon from her lips.

One hand curled around her hip, rough fingers catching on the silk as he dragged it up her thigh. He wanted nothing underneath and half expected sensible cotton, but he felt the slip and scrape of lace and satin instead.

His brain painted them ivory and virginal, just a shade paler than Felicity's skin, and he wondered of she'd take them off if he asked. That would seal their cover – her dragging a wisp of fancy satin down her legs to her ankles, the muscles in her legs gone tight and firm as she balanced on one foot and then the other to slip them off. Her eyes on him the whole time. Just him.

The image was brutally vivid, raking through the part of him where his darkest impulses curled. His cock thickened in ready response and he had to step back, adjusting his jacket fastidiously, before he lost control. Felicity stared at him with huge hunger-darkened eyes, her lips kiss swollen and her breath just that bit too quick.

And just for a second, he _wanted_ to go into Pysche. To watch her eyes go dark when she saw something she liked, to watch her bite her lip and press her thighs together and know exactly what she wanted.

Except this wasn't about what either of them wanted – or shouldn't want. It was about the mission.

'That's better,' he said and offered her his arm. 

Felicity took a deep breath and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, fingers pale against his dark sleeve. The valet's expression was conspicuously bland as he watched them approach. Oliver flicked his keys to him with practiced, rich-boy carelessness.

 'Oliver Queen,' he said.

 'I know, sir,' the valet said, snatching the keys out of mid-air. He stepped aside and pulled the doors open. 'Welcome to Pysche – our pain is your pleasure.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some non-con content in this chapter

 

Something low, slow and throaty was playing through the sound system and the great and debauched of Star City sipped wine and mingled on the ebony dance-floor. Pearls and piercings; monogrammed cuff-links and whips tapping against tailored thighs. Oliver felt Felicity bump his arm and glanced down at her.

'It a bit more low-key than I expected,' she murmured. 'And how am I meant to do anything without my-'

He dipped his fingers into his pocket and flashed an inch of the phone he'd lifted at the car. 'I have it in hand,' he said. 'Do you see Hollinger.'

She stood on her tiptoes, craning her head. He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down again.

'Discreetly,' he said.

Felicity pouted and then forgot about it as he slid his hand down her back, trailing his thumb along the tender skin along her spine, to the curve of her backside. She stiffened slightly and leant in his arm.

'Are we being watched?'

Probably. That wasn't why he'd done it though. Oliver took a breath and tried to react to the sense memory of the sweet, musk that hung in the air. He slid his hand back up to Felicity's waist, palm fitting neatly into the dip, and smiled lazily at a face he vaguely recognised.

'Relax,' he told her. 'We'll be fine, but if we don't look like we belong, we'll be asked to leave.'

He summoned a waiter with a crook of his finger and lifted a glass of red for them each, handing Felicity's her attentively. She sipped, staining her lips, and glanced around.

'Over there,' she said finally. Her gaze flicked back to him and she gave him that reserved, oddly sweet smile of hers. 'Red hair, tall, keeps tugging at his collar.'

She paused and her eyes widened. 'And he's coming over-'

Oliver raised an eyebrow and turned casually, taking in the sullen looking red head. Most of his attention went to the woman with. Penny Dolman.

'Darling,' she said, holding out small, heavily ringed hands. Her smile was wide and perfectly triangular, all straight, white teeth and, once you got past the sparkle, absolutely no emotion. Most people never saw that far, but he'd an advantage. 'We heard – well, we're all so glad you're back.'

There was a sour taste in the back of Oliver's throat, but he smiled and leaned down to kiss Penny's pale cheek. His fingers touched her shoulder – manipulation that used to be seduction – and flicked away again.

'And we all thought you were the Bad Penny,' he said.

She laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly. 'You're still a tease.' Her eyes flicked towards Felicity and her dark eyes went petulant. 'Company already. You are a quick worker.'

Oliver stepped back and put his hand on the back of Felicity's neck, the catch of her collar pressing against his palm. 'Felicity came with me.'

'Lucky girl.'

'Thank you,' Felicity said, voice so sweet that Penny wasn't sure how to react. She pouted.

'You let her talk?'

'Sometimes,' Oliver said. He glanced down at Felicity and put his finger to her lips. 'Sssh now.'

He didn't want her talking to Penny; he definitely didn't want Penny talking to her. He handed her the phone – briefly glad that she didn't copy Thea's example of charms and dangles and anime screensavers.

'Check my mail,' he told her casually. 'See if there's any news on my step-father's voting bloc?'

She looked confused for a second, and then impressed. Stepping back a little, she tucked her hair behind her ear and tapped away at the screen.

'You trust her with your business secrets?' Penny said. 'Should I be jealous? I never got the juicy inside gossip.'

'Felicity knows everything about me,' Oliver said. He was a little surprised to realise that it wasn't a lie, not completely. There were still things he hadn't told her, but she knew more of him than anyone else. 'And I didn't have any secrets the last time I was here.'

Penny laughed, a dark knowledge flicking the sound that made Oliver's jaw clench. Behind her Hollinger, whose face had been getting progressively more sour, made a disgusted noise and stuck his hand out.

'And I'm Ned Hollinger,' he said. Irritation twisted Penny's mouth, the cupid's bow thinning against her teeth. 'I've heard a lot about you. Tough guy, huh, surviving on that island?'

Oliver gripped his hand and ignored Hollinger's attempt to crush his fingers. 'I don't know about that,' he said. 'There weren't a lot of other options.'

The tip of Hollinger's tongue slid over his lips and his gaze flicked down over Oliver's body from shoulder to hip. 'I heard you were pretty badly scarred?'

'20% of your body,' Penny said, voice just a little breathless.

That was the other reason he'd not wanted to let Felicity play the domme. His scars would attract the wrong kind of attention here, and in Psyche manners only mattered if Penny decided they did.

'I don't care to talk about that,' he said.

Penny touched his chest with her fingertips. 'You weren't always so modest.'

His stomach churned in response and he had to fight the urge to hit her to get that hand off him.

* * *

 

Sharp black nails and cold silver rings trailed over Oliver's stomach, making his muscles tighten expectantly under his skin. He lay on the Spartan bed, red cords looped and twisted around his wrists and ankles to splay him out.

'You are a pretty, pretty thing, Oliver Queen,' Penny said, straddling his hips. She was still fully dressed, the latex of her skirt riding up her pale, plump thighs. A pale spray of dusty freckles decorated her skin just above her knee. When she caught him looking, she slapped him.

The shock of her hand hitting his cheek took his breath away for a second. Not the pain but just the fact of it. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had raised a hand to him.

'Don't look until I tell you that you can,' Penny said. 'Don't do anything until I tell you that you can. Understood?'

Oliver nodded. She hit him again. 'Understood?

'Yes.'

Another slap.

'Yes?'

He licked blood off his lips. 'Mistress?'

'Good boy.' She slid her fingers down between their legs and gripped his cock, squeezing her fingers tight around the base. 'Do you think I'm pretty?'

Oliver was on more familiar ground here.

'You're beautiful,' he said. She squeezed, nails digging in just slightly, and he hastily added, 'Mistress.'

Her fingers relaxed and she slid her hand down, pinning his cock flat to his stomach. Shifting position she rubbed her sex against him, wet flesh sliding over his aching erection. He arched his hips up off the bed, aching for touch, and she gave his nipple a vicious pinch with those deadly nails.

He yelped – pain spiking all the way down into his groin – and Penny smiled. Her thighs flexed as she ground against him harder, pushing him closer to pain than pleasure. She reached up, having to stretch along his lean torso, and hooked her finger into his mouth like he was a fish.

'You get what I give you,' she said, pulling. 'You take what I give you and at the end, you say, “thank you, mistress”. If you move again, I'll have to hurt you.'

Oliver grinned, 'You're going to spank my cock if I'm bad, Mistress Penny?'

She hauled back and punched him in the face, driving his head back into the pillows. Blood filled his mouth, flowing back into his noise, and the pain made his eyes water. He blinked and swallowed and opened his mouth to protest she was pushing their line. He got out half a word and she shoved a ball gag into his mouth.

Something like panic started to crawl on chilly little feet up from his stomach as Penny got off. He'd agreed to this because she said he needed to broaden his horizons, and because he'd wanted her since he might her. It had seemed like a good idea – now he wasn't sure. His cock stayed hard though as he watched her strip, peeling off the latex to reveal lush, pale curves and a bare, smooth groin with a black butterfly tattooed on the plump flesh over her vulva.

'Everyone _thinks_ they're a dominant,' she said, folding her dress neatly over the back of the chair. Her heels stayed on, spiked and red, as she walked over to cabinet and unlocked a drawer. She pulled out a pair of cheap looking leather gloves and started to pull them on. 'I see it all the time, but really they just a bit of education about what being a domme really means.'

She flexed her fingers together, getting the fit of the gloves just right, and walked back over to the bed. A cold hand ran up his thigh, goose pimpling the tanned flesh, until she cupped his balls. She squeezed, making him swear raggedly and unintelligibly as heavy want settled, and then a sharp jolt jabbed through him like a cold needle.

He screamed into the gag and wrenched the cords tying him down. Penny gave his balls another squeeze – no shock this time – and climbed back onto the bed.

'I won't _harm_ you,' she said, her hands crawling on an itch of static electricity up his stomach to his nipples. 'Just _hurt_ you a little. You'll enjoy it; you already are.'

She jerked him off with a cold detachment that made him feel raw and grubby, her hand rubbing up and down his cock with mechanical disinterest. He came wet and sticky over his stomach and her fingers. Penny wiped her hand clean on the bed and set about making him hard again.

Fingertip delivered shocks kept him up and hurting for as long as she wanted, his balls raw and aching and teeth clenched so hard into the gag his jaw creaked. At some point she held up her end of the bargain and fucked him, her breasts bouncing as she moved on top of him, but by then the thought of her touching him made him feel sick.

He was still hard, it still felt good - his cock apparently detached from what the rest of him thought. At the end of the session she ungagged and untied him and patted his cheek with one little hand.

'See? That wasn't so bad was it. I told you that you'd enjoy it.'

 

* * *

 

That had been the last time he'd gone to Psyche. He'd not thought about it – not really – in years. When the plan to infiltrate had come up, he'd assumed that after the island, where he'd been hurt far worse than sore balls and scalded nipples, it wouldn't be an issue. Yet his stomach was still full of bile and nerves.

One thing had changed, he'd become a better liar.

'I guess I just don't trust the way I used to,' he said moving her hand, and firmly changed the subject. 'What do you do, Mr Hollinger.'

'Oh, this and that,' Hollinger said dismissively. 'I work in the gaming industry, but I'm thinking of setting out on my own.'

Everyone was. Usually 'on their own' translated to 'with a seed-loan from Queen industries?' Still a few faux-interested questions could keep people talking. While Red talked, Penny checked her watch.

'If you'll excuse me,' she said. 'I have to check the back-rooms are ready. I'll see you back there.'

Once she was gone, Oliver made small talk with Hollinger, glancing round occasionally to check on Felicity. She was chewing her lip, that usually meant whatever she was doing wasn't quite there yet. Oliver was about to ask another question about Hollinger's remarkably vague proposal, when a bell rang at the back of the room. The two sets of black doors at the back of the room swung open, the crowd starting to move in that direction.

Hollinger licked his lips again and this time he was looking at Felicity.'

'If you get bored,' he said. 'I'm in the Electrum Room.

He walked away, shrugging his jacket off and tugging at his tie. Oliver let out the breath he was holding, and most of the urge to break the man's face into something more pleasing, and checked with Felicity. 'Did we get it.'

She folded soft red lips together in distress. 'No,' she said. 'He has the same encryption software that the club uses running on it. He's made exceptions so it's not as secure, but it's taking a bit longer, that's all. I need 10 more minutes.'

Shit. He caught her arm and pulled her over to the bar, trying to make it look casual. Her hair fell into her eyes and he pushed it back.

'Back-room dress code is different,' he said.

'How?'


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

It wasn't often than Oliver Queen missed the man – the boy – he'd been before the accident. Watching Felicity walk step into Psyche proper was one of them. He'd been right about the underwear. It was all ivory silk and lace, a tightly boned bustier lifting her breasts like they were waiting for his approval and french cut knickers that made him want to tell her to take them off. With her hair still tousled and his kiss still swelling her lips she looked...claimed. Before-Oliver would have had her, to hell with the consequences, all Oliver had allowed himself was telling her to take her heels off.

He liked her looking up at him. To him. Which was another reason – along with Laurel, the fact she worked for him and that if he did his usual good job of alienating anyone who got close she wouldn't be selling his secrets to paparazzi but to the police – that he had to ignore her breasts and the temptation to slide his hand up her thigh and under her knickers. To see what he'd do if he _touched_ her.

One of the other dom's stopped her, his fingers on her arm, and dipped his head down towards her. Irritating enough, but the quick, flicker of interest in the way Felicity looked at him made Oliver growl under his breath. If he couldn't touch her, he was damned if anyone else would.

He set his water down, glass clinking against the bar, and stalked over to put his hand on Felicity's bare shoulder. His fingers curled over the delicate arch of her collarbone and he felt the usual wash of protectiveness. It would be so easy to break her – he knew just how much pressure it would take.

'She's with me,' he said, tugging her in front of him.

The man glanced at her throat, the fine strips of green suede dark against her throat. 'She isn't exclusive.'

His fault. Felicity didn't know, and he'd forgotten. Oliver turned the collar around, revealing the tiny, decorative Swarovski crystal padlock. He clicked it shut. 'She is now.'

The man's mouth twisted briefly and then he shrugged and stepped back. 'I didn't realise. Maybe another time?'

'No. She's with me.'

He didn't need to do the voice, but he wanted the other man to see how Felicity reacted to the the rasp. The way her eyes darkened and her lips parted and, without even moving, her whole body shifted towards him. Like he was her centre of gravity.

That got him a respectful nod and a gesture of surrender and the man left to talk to a dark haired man in skin-tight latex. Oliver rubbed his thumb over Felicity's shoulder.

'You OK?' he asked.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded. 'Fine. I wear less at the beach. But if I have to hold my tummy in more than an hour, I'm going to pass out or be sick. Or both.'

He glanced down at the taut quiver of her stomach and slid his hand down to cover it, the splay of his fingers sliding _just_ under the lace. It was for the mission – she needed to be relaxed, they needed to be...convincing.

'You're beautiful, Felicity,' he told her. 'There's nothing wrong with the way you look. Just relax.'

She sniffed. 'Easy for you to say, you could bounce pennies off your abs. Not that I've been looking, much, but they are hard to miss. You don't like shirts. I'm just saying, you give people body image issues.'

He traced patterns on her stomach with his fingertips. 'Stop talking, Felicity.'

She took a deep breath. 'OK. I can do that.'

Not in Oliver's experience.

'Hollinger isn't here – he might be in the Electrum Room already,' he said against her ear. Maybe his hand didn't need to be that snug around her stomach, but it was a good show. 'How close do you need to be to him.'

She made a thoughtful sound he could feel through her back.

'Four feet, no more than five,' she said. 'But if I can't see him-'

'He'll be against the back wall, or on the bed,' he said. 'Penny's a creature of habit.'

Her hand covered his, fingers fitting neatly between his knuckles. 'You could have told me you'd been here before.'

'She wasn't meant to be here. No one else would have remembered me.'

It wasn't a great answer, but Felicity let it pass. Oliver thought about it and then shifted to the side, keeping his arm around her waist.

'I'll make sure Hollinger they're there,' he said. 'Wait here.'

He felt her stiffen against him, breath catching nervously in her throat. 'It will be all right. No one is going to bother you while the collar is padlocked. Just stay put.'

His hand didn't trail over stomach as he stepped back – but he thought about it. The deployment of the Queen name and the discreet offer of a credit card secured an apology that the room was engaged and the offer of the Crown Room if he'd prefer... He accepted, with the reluctance of a spoilt brat, and went back to get Felicity.

Of course, by the time he got there she was gone. His heart flicked into panic. If she'd gone after Hollinger on her own – if Penny touched Felicity...

He tried to keep his face calm as he turned on his heel, searching the room for the glimpse of blonde and white silk. When he finally found her she was watching one of the scenes, her fingers toying with her collar absently.

A lean, young man stood flat-footed on the raised platform in one of the acoustically isolated room, bent over and his hands clenched around his ankles. Black hair was cropped down to fuzz on his scalp and the swish and thwack of the crop raised straight red welts against the tawny skin. His domme positioned them carefully, the flick of her wrist criss-crossing strokes over the tautened curves of his backside.

Oliver watched the scene for a moment. It wasn't his particular brand of pleasure – he'd preferred to feel skin heating up under his hand – but he watched and wondered if it might be Felicity's. He didn't think so. Violence – even performative violence – distressed her. It had taken her weeks to stop her flinching when he sparred with Diggle in the lair. She twitched with each crack of the crop.

No. It was the exhibition of it. The dark, sensual certainty curled through him, dragging heavily down into his groin, that if he stepped up behind her and pulled her back against him she'd let him. He could slide his hand up the tight, trembling length of her thighs, to the wet, slippery heat of her sex, fingers pushing inside her. His voice in her ear making her shiver as he asked if he was wet for them...or him.

Except it wasn't his business. He wasn't her dom. If this did... _stroke..._ her interest, it wouldn't be him she explored it with.

He shoved the frustration down into a tight, sour knot and hooked his finger through Felicity's collar, dragging her away from the show.

'I told you to stay,' he said.

'I didn't-'

Oliver twisted the collar and tugged down, making her kneel. Her yelp of surprise made him squirm inside, he was taking advantage of her, in a lot of ways. It wasn't real – she wasn't _his –_ and if this was just for show, it shouldn't give him that thick, sweet heat in his groin.

'Bum on your heels,' he whispered, 'hands behind your back, grab your elbows.'

She huffed, barely visibly, and did as she was told, ducking her head down to hide behind her hair. Oliver put his knuckle under her chin and lifted her gaze.

'Look at me.'

She did, clearly simmering with resentment, and Oliver swiped his thumb over her lower lip, gloss slick against his thumb.

'Stay.'

He leant against the wall and watched the flogging until it was done – although most of his attention stayed on Felicity, the quick rise and fall of her breasts and rising urge to fidget making her twitch. Once enough time had passed for the people around him to have become different people, he pushed himself off the wall. A casual pet, his fingers sliding through her soft curls, gave her permission to get back up.

'We're using the Crown Room,' he told her, putting his hand safely on the small of her back. It was the least erotic place he could touch her, but the heat of her skin still stung his fingers. 'You can relax there.'

She waited until the door was closed and then huffed at him, stuffing her hair back behind her ears. 'Somebody is having a power trip aren't they?'

'Your hands are shaking,' he said.

'If you were a gentleman, you'd not point that out!'

'I don't think anyone ever accused me of that.'

She gave him a disgusted look and turned her back on him, taking a few deep, calming breaths and flapping her hands as if she could shake it off that way. Oliver wished it was that easy. He wished he was the Vigilante. It was easier to...stay clear under the hood.

'Fine,' Felicity said finally, turning her around. She still looked flustered, but some of the frankly aroused colour had faded from her cheeks. She very determinedly avoided looking at Oliver, or the huge, amber silk covered bed or the cuffs dangling from the bedposts, as she told him, 'We'll get this done and I can put my clothes back on and you owe me coffee for a week.'

'That simple?' he asked.

She glanced at him, quickly, and gave a brisk nod and an empty smile. 'Yep.'

The hell with that. Maybe he couldn't – really, it was shouldn't – have her, but he wasn't going to dismissed that easily. He crossed the room and caught her hip, tugging her close. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers sliding through her hair, and he lowered his head until their lips almost touched.

'You sure?'

Her breath tickled his lips, escaping her on almost a sob, and then she went up on her toes and kissed him. Small hands cupped his face and slid up into his hair, scraping through the short-cropped hair. He reached up and caught her narrow wrists in his hands, pulling them down and trapping them behind her back. Just her mouth on his, the strain of her body as she leaned into him.

She finally dropped back onto her heels, staring up at him with eyes more pupil than blue. 'That was...stupid,' she said.

'Probably.' He rested his forehead against hers for a second, then straightened up and clicked back into focus. 'Where's the phone.'

Felicity swallowed hard, licking her lips, and pulled her hair back, twisting it up with her hands. After a second she nodded and reached into her cleavage to pull out the phone. Of course, Oliver thought dryly, that was where she'd put it. She fumbled it on and went over to the wall, padding along it from door to corner. The dazed look faded from her face, replaced with annoyed focus. She lowered the phone and leaned in, pressing her ear to the wall.

'I don't think he's in there,' she muttered, chewing her lip.

'The walls are pretty thick,' Oliver said. He heard the flatness in his vote and turned away before Felicity could look at him.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I just...hold on.'

She pushed past him and clambered up the huge bed, kneeling on the pillows so could press the phone against the wall. Apparently she was planning to kill Oliver. Information flickered over the screen and she gave him a smug look over her shoulder.

'They're in there,' she mouthed, pointing at the wall.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Oliver braced his fingers against the wall and frowned. Why would they book the Electrum Room and not use it? It wasn't like Penny to neglect a chance to keep her hand in, so to speak. He licked his lips, annoyed to find them dry.

'What's in there?' he asked.

Felicity sat back on her heels, unconsciously – or not – mirroring the submissive posture he'd put her in outside, and frowned over her phone. Her tongue peeked out, curling over her top lip as she concentrated, and Oliver clenched his jaw against a hot wash of awareness.

He wanted to see if she'd do that when she touched herself, those quick, clever fingers dipping under the fancy silk waistband and her hips lifting off the bed. His hands on her knees, holding them apart so he had a good view as the long muscles in her thighs twitched and fluttered, and her breath quick and ragged as it squeezed out past her tongue.

Instead he hooked his fingers in his tie, loosening it, and unbuttoned his collar. He pushed the dark points wide over his collarbone, the warm, sex-charged air of the room doing nothing to cool him, leaned against the bedstead as he waited the minute it took Felicity to find his answer.

'Oh,' she said, wrinkling her nose. 'It's an office. That's a bit anticlimactic.'

Oliver's mouth twitched. 'Some people would disagree. I think there's...three rooms set up for office-based scenes.'

'I don't see the point,' Felicity admitted, attention back on her phone. 'I work in an office. It's not that exciting. No offence. I mean, it is your office and it's very nice as offices go, but most days I am just wondering if someone has been drinking from MY cup when I wasn't there.'

It was petty, but Oliver was hanging on to control by a taut, red-hot wire and Felicity was crawling around on the bed like the thought of sex had never crossed her mind.

'It's usually about the boss,' he said. 'Imagine at the end of the day _your_ boss – me, I guess – coming in to your office and taking his tie off.' He did, tugging the black silk out of his collar and wrapping it around his hand. 'Then he uses it tie your wrists behind your back and bends you over your desk, and you're at work so you have to be quiet as he slides his hands up your thighs and pushes your tight, pencil skirt up...'

Felicity stared at him for a second, her breasts trembling as she breathed ragged. She swallowed hard and gave him a tight, 'I know you're being a prat now' smile.

'Actually, Walter's my boss.'

He leaned over the bed and growled in her ear, feeling her twitch in reaction. 'That's not who you're thinking about.'

'No,' she agreed breathlessly, compliantly.

Oliver tucked a stray curl behind her ear. 'That's what the office rooms are for.'

He left her big eyed and befuddled on the bed as he stripped off his jacket and shirt, down to the fitted base-layer top he wore beneath it. State-of-the-art climbing gear, for the excessively rich only. Silver and bamboo blend fabric, with impact-absorbing nano-polymer panels along his back and over his stomach. Merlyn had used them. Oliver might hate the man, but he could still learn from him.

'What are you doing?' Felicity asked.

He tugged the gloves down over his fingers and reached back to unroll the hood from his collar, tugging it down over his face. It wasn't quite as dramatic as the Vigilante's uniform, but it would stop anyone recognising Oliver Queen at a glance.

'Finding out why Penny Dolmann would take a client into her office, and let one of her most expensive rooms stand empty,' Oliver said. He used a crop to dislodge a hatch in the roof and jumped, fingers catching on the lip. 'Stay here. Be quiet. Behave.'

He pulled himself up into the dusty crawlspace, cobwebs and skittering in the dim light., and let the hatch seal behind him. The ceilings weren't as well-soundproofed as the walls, the moans and yelps from the other rooms rose like hot air to get trapped under the roof.

The soundtrack did not help Oliver's aching state of arousal. He could ignore it though. It was just another sensation – no different from pain. Something to put aside for...later. That thought gave him pause, but there was no time to linger.

He tuned out the sounds of pleasure, crawling through the narrow space until he heard Hollinger's Gotham-harsh vowels.

'He wasn't part of the plan.'

Penny's breathy voice was harder to make out, but Oliver could catch the gist of it.

'...good an opp....ity to miss,' she said. '….forget the rest....set us up....with Queen...'

The sound of his name made Oliver twitch slightly. He moved slightly, trying to find a position to listen from.

'Why not just video him like the rest?'

Penny laughed, the sharp sound clear even through the floor. Contempt pitched her voice up, making it clear.

'This is Oliver Queen,' she said. 'Him fucking a pretty blonde is so low on the scandal charts it probably wouldn't even go viral; it wouldn't be worth his while to crack his wallet. No, if this to work we have to be more direct.'

There was silence for a second and Hollinger's voice cracked the next time he spoke.

'The man's not soft, not like the others.'

That bright laugh again. Penny's voice had gone low again. '...fooled by the hype. A little pain....break.'

'And the girl?'

'Bring her along, in case we need to demonstrate.'

Felicity. There was no time to think. Oliver twisted around and scrambled back to the hatch, hooking it up and dropping through it. He dragged his shirt off and tossed it aside, grabbing Felicity and throwing her back onto the bed.

He scrambled on top of her, knee nudging her thighs apart and one hand shoving her knickers down over the curve of her hip. Anyone else would have hit by now, but it was Felicity and she trusted him.

'What?' she mouthed at him.

Oliver grabbed her wrists in his free hand and pinned them over her head – habit, not stage-setting. Neither of them were going to mention the hard press of his cock against her as he pressed her down into the mattress.

'It's under control,' he told her.

She looked dubious, but he kissed her protest into his silence. The arch of her body under his, her hips pressing up against his, was a sweet enough distraction that he almost missed the creak of the door opening.

Almost.

Even Oliver Queen, playboy extraordinaire, wouldn't miss the press of cold, hard metal against his head, though. He lifted his head, lifting his weight off Felicity onto his elbows, and glared at Hollinger.

'What the hell-'

Hollinger back-handed across the face, gun-weighted knuckles smashing into his jaw. The quick, red splash of pain was familiar and absorbed, drunk down with the rest to serve as fuel. It was harder to ignore the ache in muscles that wanted to block, react, snap his wrist and feed him his own gun.

Instead Oliver swore and bled, pressing his bare arm to his face. Felicity screamed and Hollinger grabbed her by the hair, dragging her off the bed. It was a...lot...harder not to react to that. Oliver swallowed hard and sat up.

'What are you doing?' he said.

Hollinger smiled and tossed him a black silk bag. 'Kidnapping you, Mr Queen. I just don't have the patience for filling in those bank form things, so I'm taking a more direct approach to getting that seed loan.'


	6. Chapter 6

 

They took Oliver's car.

Hollinger crawled into the narrow back seat with Felicity. He kept touching her a hand on her knee, his fingers in her hair. She was wearing Oliver's jacket, drowning in it, but Hollinger was still leering. He kept boasting of his 'connections in Gotham', like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to scare her or impress her. Oliver watched in the mirror, trying to read the level of Felicity's distress. He was going to kill him Hollinger eventually, but if he actually scared Felicity, he was going to kill him right now..

Oliver tested his restraints again – the bite of cold metal under his wrists familiar and reassuring. They looked the part, but they weren't police issue. He could get out of them quickly.

'Stop fidgeting, Ollie,' Penny said. She was driving. 'If you try anything, Red is going to _hurt_ that new pet of yours. Do you think you'll still want her once someone else has marked that pretty skin?'

He clenched his fists. 'I'm not you.'

The city zipped past in a smear of lights. They were heading into the Glades, and it was strange to realise that this felt like Oliver's home territory these days. His internal map fell into place as each street passed limited future options.

The docks.

It was dark and quiet, but not abandoned. Even with the Vigilante on the streets, there was always someone looking to turn a quick, quiet and illegal buck in Starling City. The warehouse that Penny parked in front of, though, was pretty far from the the low background hum of smuggling activity.

'Behave, Ollie,' she warned him, getting out of the car. 'The girl isn't important to me.'

She got out, waiting until Hollinger dragged Felicity from the back-seat to open the passenger door for Oliver. He got out, making it look clumsily than he needed to be, and gave Felicity a reassuring smile.

'It'll be all right,' he promised.

She gave him a quick, tense smile. 'I know.'

Hollinger twisted his hand in her hair. 'Think he's a big man, sweetheart?' he said. 'Don't get too attached to that. Penny's gonna make him squeal.'

'Take your hands off her,' Oliver warned coldly. There was enough threat in his voice that despite his blustering jeer, Hollinger did as he was told. Unfortunately, he still had the gun. It pushed against Felicity's ribs, digging through the layer of his jacket, as he bullied her into the warehouse.

It was empty, huge and dusty and echoing. Roller's logo was branded onto the floor in peeling red paint. A chair sat in the middle of it, heavy chains puddled around its bowed legs.

'Sit down,' Penny told him.

He breathed out through his nose, weighing up his options. It wouldn't be hard to take them out, but he didn't want Felicity at risk. He didn't want her to see him kill someone either – not if he could avoid it.

Laurel hadn't been able to accept that side of him.

Oliver sat down.

'Don't,' Felicity protested. 'Oliver, please -'

'Oh, don't worry, sweetheart,' Penny said, crouching to snap the shackles around his ankles. 'He likes it really.'

Once he was secure – or she thought he was – Penny stepped back and pulled a glossy tablet out of her purse, fingers jabbing at the screen. 'You see, Ollie, life in Starling City had become a little-' she paused and pursed glossy lips, looking up. 'Restrictive? Yes, a little too restrictive for my tastes.'

'Lucky want to tie you up these days?' Oliver asked dryly.

Penny glared at him. 'Shut your mouth.'

Hollinger hooked his arm around Felicity's throat and tugged her back against his chest. She strained away from him.

'What she means,' he said. 'Is that tying people up and hurting them until they said stop wasn't doing it for her no-more.'

'Shut up, Red.'

'Quit playing with him and get on with it,' he snapped. 'You think you can grab Oliver fucking Queen and no alarms are going to go up, that people aren't going to notice? You're right, this is our pay day, but we need to get it done and get gone.'

'What people?' Felicity asked. 'Oliver, what are they talking about.'

'I don't know,' he said, trying to make his voice reassuring. 'Felicity-'

'Yeah, he's not the one you need to be talking to, Blondie,' Hollinger smirked. 'Me, I know everyone who's everyone in town.'

Ah, clever girl. Some of the raw edge left Oliver's nerves, but he didn't relax. Hollinger kept talking.

'That's why me and Penny make such a good team,' he said. 'She likes hurting people, and I know people who'll pay good money for that. Only problem is-'

'Some people get so het up about a little pain,' Penny finished. 'Apparently I may have gone a bit 'too far' with one of Roller's nephews. Just like you, Ollie, he thought he was a big, tough man till I got my hands on him. Now, I need a new name and a new home town before Roller gets back and, ah, finds out I was moonlighting.'

She crouched down next to him and showed him the tablet. The Queen family bank was already open on it, just waiting the code and password.

'So what I need you to do is empty the Queen hostage fund into this Swiss bank account,' she said. '$500,000. That's how much your mother said was in there five years ago. No questions asked. That's how much she loved you. Now, how much do you love your pet?'

Felicity gasped. It was the sort of gasp that was trying very hard not to be a yelp. Oliver knew the noise: he'd made it; he'd caused it. He looked over and his fists clenched – Felicity was standing on her tiptoes with her arm twisted up behind her back. Her soft mouth was twisted into a hard, tight line and her eyes were bright with frightened tears.

'Let her go.'

'I don't think so,' Hollinger said. He licked his lips. 'I can see why you like her. She's a sweet thing.'

'$500,000 worth of sweet,' Penny said. 'I'm going to uncuff your hands, Ollie. Don't do anything stupid, or, well, I'll throw your girl a freebie.'

'If I give you the money, how do I know you won't kill us,' he said.

'Ollie,' she said, voice lilting chidingly. 'After all we've been through, you don't trust me?'

He gave her his best empty smile. 'No.'

She left him cuffed and got something else out of her back, pulling on the thin black gloves. They were thinner than Ollie remembered, slick material stretching tight over her knuckles, but the jolt of pain that went through him when she touched him was the same. It was not as bad as he remembered.

'Remember these?' she said. 'They were much clumsier then. I've...refined them.'

Penny slid her hand up, over his chest – shocks of pain jerking through his muscles. Her red lips were parted and her eyes bright with excitement as she touched the heavy pads of scar tissue. That made his breath hitch, electricity flicking old, aching nerves to life.

'They still look cheap.'

Her face twitched and she grabbed his groin, fingers clenching. That did hurt. He clenched his jaw, teeth creaking, and breathed through the pain.

'Oliver,' Felicity yelled. 'Leave him alone! Stop it.'

Penny giggled and let go.

'You do seem to have toughened up on the island,' she said. Leaning in, her breasts pressed warm against his arm, she whispered, 'Last time I had you screaming. How long do you think your girl will hold up, though? Does she like pain.'

He didn't know. Even if she did, Penny wouldn't respect limits. That was the problem. $500,000 wouldn't break the Queen family bank – but he didn't trust Penny. She was an unstable sadist and Hollinger as still holding Felicity too close.

'Uncuff my hands,' he said 'I'll do it.'

She patted his cheek. The shock from her gloves smeared grey across his vision.

'Good boy.'

She stepped behind him and uncuffed him – stripping off one glove to it. The chill metal slid off his wrists and he brought them forwards, flexing his shoulders. Old damage clicked and scraped on the bone. Now all he had to do was take out Penny and Hollinger – without revealing there was more to Oliver Queen than uselessness and privilege or killing them.

Easy.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Blunt fingers jabbed at the surface of the tablet, feeding in the sequence of numbers. The last box flickered temptingly empty, $50,000 in the balance. Penny leant in, sucking her full lower lip between her teeth, and Oliver dropped the tablet. Instinct made Penny grab for it as it fell, even though those gloves would fry it better than a crack.

Oliver rammed his knee up into her face, chains clanking. Her lips split and bright blood splurted from her nose as she fell backwards, writhing on the ground. Oliver smashed his heel down on the tablet, cracks spider-webbing over the screen.

'You son of a bitch,' Hollinger snarled, shoving Felicity aside. She stumbled and fell, landing on her hands and knees with a yelp. The red haired thug stormed over and shoved Oliver back into the chair, cocking his fist back. 'Let's make that pretty face match the rest of you.'

The first blow cracked into Oliver's cheekbone. Pain spiked around his eye socket and the chair rocked onto its back-legs. Instead of trying to save himself, Oliver hooked his foot around Hollinger's knee and tipped them both over. They landed hard and the chair smashed under their combined weight. Oliver grunted, ribs creaking, and punched Hollinger in the throat, making the man gag and choke. They scuffled on the ground, Oliver reluctantly pulling his punches instead of taking the man apart.

'Hold him down,' a voice thick with blood and anger said.

Hollinger jammed his forearm into Oliver's throat and pushed him down as Penny, blood wet and masking her face and chest, reached for him. Sparks chased each other through the gaps between her fingers. Oliver tensed, ready to abandon his restraint, and his brain spun through scenarios for the most effective fight.

Before he could break Hollinger's elbow, what sounded like every alarm in the docks went off. The noise echoed disorientingly off the high, bare concrete walls.

'What the hell-' Hollinger said, his eyes darting up and around. His arm shifted on Oliver's throat and Oliver twisted under him, throwing the weight of him off. The memory of Hollinger's hands on Felicity jabbed at Oliver and for good measure he yanked the man's arm out of his socket.

Hollinger screamed, voice cracking, and writhed around in pain.

'If I were you,' Felicity said, voice shaking under an attempt to be firm. 'I'd get out of here.'

Penny wiped her face on her sleeve and laughed at her. 'It's a bit of noise,' she said. 'This is the Glades, do you think the police are going to come?'

Felicity stood up, blood on her knees, and lifted her chin stubbornly. 'I think Roller will,' she said, holding up her phone. 'You shouldn't give a man with so many gambling apps on his phone access to your proprietary security software. I think Mr Roller is going to be very interested in what I just sent him.'

Penny stared at her for a second, searching her face for deception. When she didn't find any, she rounded on Hollinger. 'You moron,' she spat. 'He'll kill us.'

'You,' Hollinger said, levering himself painfully onto his good elbow. 'Not me.'

'I'll give him reason,' Penny said. 'If he doesn't, Lucky will.'

The phone in was shaking in Felicity's hand. 'Get away from Oliver,' she said. 'Just go. We won't call the police.'

Penny ran her tongue over her bloody lips, hesitating. Finally she snarled and dragged Hollinger to his feet and shoved him towards the door.

'I'll remember this,' she promised. 'I'll remember both of you.'

They fled the warehouse. Felicity waited until they were gone and heaved a ragged sigh, pressing her hand to her breast. 'I think I'm going to be sick,' she said quickly. 'I have fear-barf.'

Oliver used a screw from the smashed chair to pick the lock on his ankle-cuffs. He kicked them off and went over to Felicity, putting his arm around her shoulders. She was shivering, a fine shudder that ran from the nape of her neck to her hips.

'You did good,' he told her, taking the phone away from her. 'Hollinger didn't think to check your cleavage?'

A smile trembled over Felicity's mouth and was gone again. 'You kept glaring at him,' she said. 'I think it put him off. It puts me off sometimes – off what I'm doing, not you. I mean, you're a vigilante killer and I still work with you, so a glare isn't going to impact my opinion much. I'm babbling aren't I?'

She nodded the answer to her own question and stopped, letting Oliver tuck her in close to his side and kiss her temple.

Oliver called a cab. He could have called Diggle, but...he didn't want to surrender Felicity just yet. The driver must have been a Starling City veteran. He didn't even look askance at Oliver Queen, in nothing but a pair of torn trousers, taking a woman in her underwear and a borrowed jacket from the docks to a night club.

Back in the Foundry Oliver cleaned up her skinned palms and knees with iodine, holding her foot in one hand as she twitched.

'Stop wriggling,' he told her.

She did, toes wriggling nervously against his palm. He noticed that she'd painted them the same pale pink as her fingernails.

'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked. 'Her.'

He paused, thinking about it. The weight had gone out of the memory of being tied to that bed, but it was still bitter. It made him feel unmoored.

'No,' he said and stood up.

Oliver cleared away the first aid kit, tossing the bloody gauze into the bin to burn. He could feel Felicity watching him, but she didn't push.

'I should go,' she said instead, wrapping her arms around herself. The jacket tugged tight over her breasts and hips. She'd smell like him when she took it off, cologne and Oliver soaked into her skin through her pores. 'Thank you.'

He didn't want her to go.

'Take off my jacket,' he said roughly.

Felicity twitched, fingers smoothing down the sleeves of the borrowed jacket? A confused frown wrinkled her nose. 'What? Why? I mean, it's your jacket but I don't have-'

Oliver walked around her, a touch of his fingers against her shoulder keeping her from turning to follow him. He lifted her hair off her neck, brushing his thumb over the sensitive patch of skin just under her hairline. The scrape of his thumb made Felicity's breath hitch, a shiver running down her spine.

'You can take the jacket and go,' he said. Part of him didn't want to offer her the option. It wouldn't be hard to push her into doing what he wanted – she was shaky still, and compliant – but that was Penny. Not him. 'Or you can stay and do as you're told.'

He slid his hand down her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin through the sleeve of his jacket, to her wrist. Her pulse fluttered against his fingers.

'I-what about Laurel?' she said.

It should have made Oliver feel guilty. The man he tried to be would have felt guilty. Instead...he needed this and Laurel didn't.

So he took Felicity's hand and slid it across and down, guiding her fingers between her thighs. She made a choked little noise and swayed back into him.

'If _I_ don't touch you,' he said. 'If you don't touch me, we're not doing anything wrong.'

'...but what's the point?'

The pout in her voice made Oliver wonder the same thing for a second – his body clenching at the thought of all the things he could do to her. He licked his lips and stepped away from her, finishing the circuit so he was standing in front of her.

'If you stay,' he said, voice dropping to a growl, 'you'll find out.'

Felicity bit her lip, white teeth folding the plush, pink curve in half, and then slid the jacket off her shoulders. It slid down her body and puddled around her bare feet. She kicked it out of the way and knelt down, head bowed and hands clasped behind her back. Blue eyes looked up him curiously through thick lashes.

Dark, satisfied heat curled through Oliver. He ran his fingers through her hair, cupping the curve of her skull. 'Good girl.'

 


End file.
